


An Angel from on High

by gatomonfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Harry is a star, M/M, OOC Harry, harry has wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatomonfan/pseuds/gatomonfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man with hair of ebony, features of porcelain and the wings of a swan is found lying unconscious near Hobbiton. Who is he and what does he want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Harry is going to be a little, if not a lot, ooc in this. Just thought I'd warn you.

Warmth filled him as a bright white glow chased away the cold darkness that had surrounded him for so long.

However, it could not chase away the memories that hung heavily in his mind.

The twins... lying together in a pool of their own blood, victims of an entrail-expelling curse.

Hermione... a traitor.

The rest of the weasleys... Gold diggers.

Dumbledore... a manipulator.

Sirius... lost to silvery depths of the veil.

Tonks and Lupin... Killed by the killing curse, their hands intertwined even in death.

Hedwig... his ever faithful companion, torn to shreds by Nagini.

He wanted to scream his loss to the world, but he couldn't. He no longer had any tears left to cry with, and there was no longer a world to scream to. Besides... screaming wouldn't bring them back, nothing would.

Part of him couldn't help but wonder, if they had given in to his demands would they still be alive? Would they still be hear to laugh and cry with him? Probably not.

Not long after the war had ended, another started. The muggles were good at avoiding things they didn't want to know existed, but not even they could miss things like giant, green, hovering skulls, mysterious deaths that had no explanations and houses that burnt down because flames couldn't be put out by any tool the muggles had in their possession.

A war between muggles and wizards started.

Guns, bombs and machines clashed with spells of every colour and hue. It was to much for the already damaged earth.

In the year 2020, the world imploded, taking the two warring sides and everything else with it. One by one, each person of the earth had died from the lack of oxygen and he had closed his eyes in resignation, expecting the same fate.

Death had over plans, passing over him and leaving him alive and alone. A living star.

Hah! A living star. That used to be his own private joke to himself, his only spot of joy in the dark, miserable, space he found himself drifting in.

Now though, it seemed to have more truth to it that he had actually intended.

The glow which now surrounded him seemed to be internal, shining out from beneath skin that had become chalk white in the years without light, filling his entire being with warmth but that being was not the being he remembered being.

It seemed he had changed a lot during his time in space. His hair, once jet black, short and scruffy, was now ebony, glossy, neat and long enough that it reached down to the small of his back.

Reaching back to run a hand through it, he brushed past an ear, only to find it pointy, long and sensitive.

His clothes, too, had changed. His t-shirt and jeans had mysteriously become a white Greek-style tunic, tied at his waist by a length of golden cord. His trainers and socks had vanished, leaving him barefoot. Come to think of it, his glasses were gone as well, but he found he no longer needed them.

His back felt mysteriously heavy but it took him several attempts, not helped at all by the lack gravity, to find out why. Whenever he turned, the new weight turned as well, and he reckoned that if he were to watch himself from an outsiders point of view he would look a lot like a dog trying to catch it's tail.

He cringed, reminding himself not to think about dogs. It only served to remind him of Sirius.

Finally managing to catch the weight, he almost dropped it again when he found out what it was. Wings! He had wings! Large white wings covered in soft long feathers that trembled with each touch.

It was amazing. Had his magic done this? It must have done, for what else could have? But at the same time, that left the question, why had it not done it before? Why had it done it now? Part of him was convinced it was something over than his magic, but what? What had the power to make the boy-who-lived into the boy-who-lived-to-be-turned-into-an-angel?

***

He watched from his vantage point in the sky as a new world was created to replace the one that had been destroyed. Men and women, who's appearance was more volatile than his best friend' s sister's temper used to be, came to forge earth and water from nothing. He watched as a man, with hair coloured golden and a bow secured behind a quiver of eagle feather fletched arrows, grew trees from the patches of earth that were starting to form in the space below him, directing the roots to knit the ground together and then pointing water in the direction that it was needed.

A man, who shifted between a form of molten lava and an armoured form with three extra eyes fixed into the forehead, created shadows and a land of permanent darkness where any flowers and plants that had been forming were instantly killed. Here the earth blackened and hardened into rocks as hard as steel. Heat filled the land and from the centre rose a volcano, spewing ashes and molten rock despite it's dormancy.

A woman, who's beauty was unparalleled even by the flowers that formed wherever she walked filled the barren earth with grass and wild flowers, covering the most narled roots of her fellows forests with blankets of heather.

A third man wandered out, his appearance that of a fisherman apart from his garb which was made from the silvery folds of the water he so skilfully commanded. The water, which so far had been straying where it would, followed him to where the earth had given way to a large bowl like surface. The water gushed in, filling the empty ditch until a sea formed.

He observed as a woman, who's hair sparkled with a view of the sky from the new lands surface, reached up and, beckoning to it as one would a dog, called down him and the other stars so that they would be more visible to the future occupants of this new world but still unreachable should even the tallest of beings reach their hand into the air.

In this way he watched until the world was finished, full of the most wonderful and bizarre of animals and plants, etched with the calmest and most serene rivers, riddled with mountains, that stretched towards the sky until their peaks were dusted white by the puffy cotton clouds they split, and hills, with smooth bald tops, and yet, despite the wonderful surroundings and views, it was still void of life for the beings had yet to create any life outside of the animals and plants.

Eager to see the beings that were due to be created, he leant forwards in his small patch of space. He was glad that whilst the sun hid the stars from view of the people down on the world during the day, it didn't hide his view of the world.

He watched a being, with one of the new eagles perched on one shoulder and a crown of gold on his head, walk over to the water. He waved a hand at the gentle, lapping waters, forming a humanoid form from it, solidifying the liquid into a more solid shape. He gave the new being pointed ears like his, and grew out the hair until it stretched to the shoulders, making sure it retained the flowing properties it had had as water. He felt, more than heard, as the crowned man named his new creation an elf. The man left the water man to create more elves, moving away from the sea to the mountains.

Here he formed a much shorter creature form the ground, giving it muscles and a long beard, until it looked like a Scottish version of a goblin, which the being then named a dwarf.

The process of creation continued, until there were humans and hobbits to go with the elves and dwarves.

Unknown the creator, however, another man was trying his own luck at creation and he watched with baited breath from his position in the stars, a bad feeling welling up in his abdomen as he watched the armoured man steal some of the others creations. Using the dark earth he had created, he warped the elf he had stolen into an uglier version, with rotting skin, scars, no hair and missing appendages. This he called an orc.

Next he took the dwarf and switched its eyes for those of a fish, he took a way the fat and muscle and replaced the tanned skin and red hair with scales and black, greasy strands. This new creature was christened a goblin.

The next two creatures he created weren't from humanoids but from animals of the forests, a spider and a wolf. The wolf he gave a humped back and ragged coat whilst yellowing the teeth and making them bigger, calling this a warg he moved onto the spider, which he made bigger and upgraded the lethality but otherwise left the same.

He shivered, glad he was up here in the stars and far away from those things.


	2. Chapter 1

The sun rose on Hobbiton to shine orange rays on fields bursting with crops and empty dirt roads that wove sedately around the small hills. These hills were, in fact, the choice locations of many a Hobbit hole.

"What's a Hobbit hole?" Do I here you ask?

Let's have a look at one and then I think you'll get the idea.

Set into the hill's grassy turfs are a multitude of small, round wooden doors. They are painted in neat, ordinary colours, such as blue and red but the one that interests us is a green one.

This green door, as it happens, is the only door with a strange symbol on it in the whole of the shire. It looked like an 'F', one which had been drawn by someone who was either using his left hand when he was right handed or who was drawing it with a long pole from halfway down the garden path. The case was, in fact, the second one, but the strange slant on the two top lines of the 'F' was in fact, deliberate.

The 'F' had been placed there years ago by a well known wizard who goes by the name of Gandalf. Said wizard had left it there as a message to a group of dwarfs who had been looking for a burglar at the time.

That, however, is a tale for another time. Inside the door, was a long passageway. It wasn't a passageway you would expect to see inside a hill. Instead of having walls and a floor made of earth, they were made of wood, and instead of being decorated with stray roots, the walls were hung with pictures whilst the floor was home to large chests and numerous umbrella and hat stands. It was a warm passageway, rather than cold as you would expect, and there were no worms or snails insight.

Connected to these passageways were a series of doors, each one leading to a different room: the pantry, the dining room, the living room, the master bedroom, the second bedroom, the kitchen (arguably the most important room in the house), the study, the guest room and the wine cellar.

At this point in time, you must be starting to get the idea of what type of life a hobbit lived. They were simple creatures, with a love for food, wine and an afternoon of nothing but smoking pipe weed through long, wooden pipes was thought of as an afternoon well spent.

They had no love of adventures or anything that could be counted as abnormal. If you lived in Hobbiton, you were expected to mind your own business and never to go any further than the shire border. If you went on about adventures and glory to a Hobbit you would quite suddenly find them retracting the invite inside their home for a spot of afternoon tea.

The Hobbit that lived behind the green door was unusual because he had gone on an adventure. His name was Bilbo and he had lived at Bagend (the name given to his hobbit hole) for his whole life.

Before his adventure, the Baggins family was considered respectable and sensible. They lived in an expensive large Hobbit hole, set into it's own hill and equipped with windows. They always had some fellow Hobbit over for tea (a good way to make friends in Hobbiton), and they were notorious for keeping their noses out of anything that could be remotely described as an adventure.

As you can probably expect, this meant that the outrage, that was caused by young master Bilbo suddenly leaving with a party of dwarves for, what was probably, the biggest adventure any Hobbit had ever been on, was even bigger than it would normally be.

What's worse is that he had had the nerve to return, with crates full of gold and jewellery trailing behind him at that! Luckily for Bilbo, but not for the people who had actually had an interest in buying that lovely Hobbit hole of his, they had yet to sell his home, having still been in the process of selling his large collection of plates when he turned up.

Most of the Hobbits at the auction had yet to actually pay for their purchases and so didn't mind to badly about handing them back to their rightful owner, the Sackville Baggins being an exception to this. After that adventure, he never saw his silverware cutlery again.

Now that you have an idea of what to expect from most Hobbits, let me introduce you to the current occupants of Bagend. First of is Bilbo Baggins, who is now remarkably still going strong at the ripe old age of 111. This may or may not have something to do with the magical ring he found half way through his adventure.

Second, and the newest occupant to Bagend is Frodo Baggins, the adopted heir to Bilbo Baggins. Frodo's parents, Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck had been killed in a boating accident when Frodo was only 12, leaving him to live with his maternal family, the Brandybucks in Brandy Hall until he was 21, when Bilbo decided to name his cousin the sole heir to everything he owned. Since then, Frodo had become a Baggins and had moved in with Bilbo.

This morning, Frodo awoke with the sun, a surprising feat for a Hobbit who was notorious for sleeping in until someone started on breakfast. He lay in bed, confused and disoriented, trying to figure out exactly why he had woken up. He hadn't wanted to wake up, he knew that much. He had been having the most pleasant dream about meeting a beautiful Hobbit and marrying her. It had just been getting to a good part to, the wedding feast.

He groaned and left his bed, deciding to get dressed for the day, it was obvious he wouldn't be getting any more sleep. Fully dressed, he entered the living room and glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, only to groan when he spotted the time. Six-o'clock. That had to be a personal record, one he wasn't happy about setting.

Maybe a walk would help cheer him up? With that thought, the young Hobbit left Bagend and followed the carefully kept garden path down to the little white gate that led out to the rest of Hobbiton.

On his way, he passed Samwise Gamgee, who was already tending to the flowers in the garden despite the early hour.

"Mornin', Master Frodo. What's the occasion?" Called the chipper blonde Hobbit.

"There is non, Sam, something woke me up though and I can't seem to get back to sleep." He nodded to the other before continuing through the gate and down the dirt path on the other side.

Frodo rarely saw it, but when he did, even he had to admit that in the early morning, Hobbiton was quite the sight to see. Neatly kept fields and hedges appeared to glow in the early morning and birds sang in the peaceful quiet that was only present whilst the majority of Hobbits were still in bed.

He found himself whistling along with the animals as he took one of the less used roads through the fields.

It was this early morning walk through the fields that would change the course of the future of everyone around the young Hobbit.

***

Frodo approached the large ditch, confusion evident in his movements. This ditch hadn't been here last time he came this way. The land in this part of Hobbiton was to hard to dig or plough so the farmers usually let it be, not even the livestock came this way, preferring to eat grass from ground that was easier on their feet.

This hole was to big for a single animal or Hobbit to have caused anyway. The sides sloped down almost vertically, not to big for a fully grown man to be able to pull himself out of but certainly to big for an unequipped Hobbit. Roots stuck out at odd angles, bits of them broken off as if something had pushed past them in a hurry. A tree that had once stood where the hole was had been upended and shoved to the side as though it were little more than a twig.

Frodo approached the edge of the hole and looked down in it's depths cautiously, backing up nervously when some earth nearby crumbled and slid down the steep walls. He peered down through the darkness, trying to see the bottom. The dry earth clouded at the bottom, stirred by the slight summer breeze that managed to get into the whole, but eventually the dusty cloud thinned enough that Frodo was able to see the form of a tall human curled up at the bottom of the pit.

"Hello?" He called. "Are you okay?" He frowned when he didn't receive an answer. It probably wouldn't be safe to climb down to the figure, there was hardly enough room in there to stand without stepping on one of the figures limbs, and chances were that even when he had climbed down there would be little he could do.

He stared down helplessly at the limp man in the pit, wondering what he could possibly do to help.

"'Ello, young Frodo!" Someone hailed. "Haven' seen you roun' 'ere in a long time."

"Farmer Gamwich! Thank goodness. Come look!" Frodo beckoned to the bewildered farmer, pointing with one hand to the hole at his feet.

"You should watch yourself there, young Frodo, the edges look ready to give- Valar!" Farmer Gamwich stopped mid-warning to stare aghast at the figure lying in the hole. "Oh my! Wha' happened 'ere?"

"I don't know but he won't respond when I call down. I think he's unconscious. You've got to help me get him out of there, Farmer Gamwich." The farmer nodded in response to the pleas and then assumed a thinking pose.

"I think I know wha' to do. Wai' 'ere and I'll run back to ge' some rope. See if you can get a response until I get back, ok?" Frodo nodded and watched the farmer run off in the direction he had come from, before turning back to the hole and starting to yell down it, in an attempt to wake the man up.

"Still no' awake? Righ' then," Farmer Gamwich was back and stood next to Frodo, looking down at the man as he created a loop at the end of the corse rope.

"What is going on here? George!" Mrs Gamwich, it seemed had followed her husband back to the hole and was now staring down into it with the two males.

"Hol' this you two, and wha'ever happens, don' let go!" He handed the two the end of the rope whilst slipping one of his feet into the loop at the other end. With that, he pushed himself over the edge at started scaling the short climb to the bottom. Once the he got off, and leant down over the limp body, checking for a pulse. "He's alive, at least, and seems uninjured!" He called up, much to the relief of the others. He then rapped one arm around the males waist and got back onto the rope. "Haul me up!" He ordered.

Once they were out of the hole, the strange male was placed on the grass and they got to see just who they had just saved.

He was breathtakingly beautiful, and if it weren't for the large white wings currently folded tightly behind the youths back, they would think he was an elf. His ebony hair, which reached down to the small of his back, was highlighted with streaks of silver. His head was angular, with a circlet of silver, emeralds and lapis lazuli rested on his forehead. His ears, which were slightly longer than they figured an elf's would be, were pointed and lay back against his head rather than sticking out like theirs did.

The clothes he wore, were white, and tied at his waist by a golden rope. They didn't recognize the style but had to admit the outfit suited the mysterious winged youth. His feet were bare, like theirs, but free of any hair, leg, foot or otherwise, and his skin was pale, alabaster in shade.

"Who is he?" Frodo asked curiously.

"That is what we would like to know." Mrs Gamwich replied, finished checking him over for any sign of injury. "Well, whoever he is, he's uninjured, just unconscious, but we can't leave him here."

"I suppose I can take him back to Bagend. We do have a spare room..." Frodo trailed off uncertainly. Taking in the strangers wings and strange garb. Just what was he letting himself in for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this next instalment. Don't forget to let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 2

He stirred, his movements slow and sluggish and his eyelids seemed to be weighed down by lead weights. Regardless, he forced himself to wake up.

That was new to him. How long had it been since he last slept? Up in the night sky he had never had any need of energy and so he hadn't needed to recover it. That didn't mean he didn't get more energy, the lack of action meant that his energy reserves were overflowing, it just meant that he didn't need to sleep.

Why was he asleep now?

"Toto, I don't think we're in the sky any more." He quipped after a quick scan of his surroundings.

He wasn't sure how he felt about his new surroundings. On one hand, they were much warmer and merrier, not to mention more interesting, than the empty space he had existed in for the past few millennia had been, but on the other, it struck him with an overwhelming sense of homesickness. He was also quite used to the cold mass of space around him now and suddenly being effected by the normal rules that effected the lifeforms on a world came as a shock.

At least he didn't have anything to worry about temperature wise. Space was ten times as cold as anything this world could hope to offer, and the warm glow that had encased him up there was still present, it was just fainter, subdued by the celestial beams of the sun which had failed to reach him before. Doubtless, come night he would shine just as brightly as he had up there.

He sat up, feeling gravity suddenly take effect and try to push him back down into the mattress he had woken up on. That at least explained his sluggish movements. Unused to gravity as he was, it felt like he was chained to the ground.It would probably take a while for him to learn how to move properly again.

"Your awake!" The exclamation brought his attention to a small figure standing in a rounded doorway. He looked like little more than a child to his eyes, but his memory recognized the small creature as a Hobbit or Halfling. That probably meant if he remembered correctly, that he was either in the Shire or Bree. He wouldn't truly know until he got a look outside.

The only window in his current location, whilst large and obviously open, was shielded by lacy white curtains, blocking all but the smallest beams of light.

His pointed ears detected cheery greetings and the constant snip of sheers coming from outside.

The Hobbit shuffled nervously under his gaze, a hand sneaking up to brush through thick brown curls.

"Who are you and where am I?" He questioned, his magic allowing him to speak the common tongue used by the free people of the world, despite nether having heard it before.

The Hobbit blinked for a second before replying, "My name's Frodo Baggins. Your in my home in Hobbiton. Who are you?"

"The Shire." He muttered quietly under his breath, ignoring the question for a moment. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to answer any way. He had no idea what names were like on this world. Knowing this Hobbit's name didn't help either. Hobbits were so reclusive that pretty much everything about them was unique.

The wasn't the only thing that concerned him about giving his original name, however. He wasn't entirely sure whether he wanted to be known as Harry Potter in this world. Back on earth, that name had been known by everyone. He was a war hero and leader. The only person to survive the killing curse. He hadn't needed to introduce himself because everyone had known what he was called. The only connection he really had to the name was that it was chosen by his parents. The only thing he had left of his parents now that his original world had been destroyed, taking everything but him with it.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end and he realized that Frodo was staring at him.

"What's wrong?" The Hobbit asked, concern showing in his features at his guests failure to answer such an easy question.

Thinking fast, he replied, "I can't say that I have a name. Where I have come from, it was never a necessary thing." In a sense it was the truth. It was highly likely that one of this worlds Astronomers had given him a name but he did not know it and therefore couldn't use it, and up in space he had been the only one alive to talk and hadn't needed a name. It was surprising he even remembered his original label.

"You don't have a name?" Questioned the horrified Hobbit. He nodded, not bothering to repeat his statement. "Well..." The Hobbit floundered for a bit. "We can pick a name later when you're not... you know." He gestured helplessly at his guests prone position on the bed. He nodded to show he understood the basic message the Hobbit was trying to convey. "How did you get in that hole, any way?" The Hobbit asked curiously, remembering how he had found the nameless individual.

"Hole?" He thought about it for a second. "I don't remember... but I probably fell." He definitely had fallen, but probably not in the way the Hobbit thought, given the way his host was currently eyeing his wings with new found awe.

"You fell? You mean those things actually let you fly? You must have been awfully high up to create a hole that big." He hid a snort at the Hobbits understatement. He wouldn't be surprised if his zone of impact looked like a meteorite zone.

What he had said did make him curious, however. Having been in space for so long, he had never actually had a chance to test out his wings. He hadn't needed them. Now though, he was effected by gravity and he wanted to know if his new appendages would actually bare his weight in flight. Not just that either, he wanted to actually know how to fly. Back on his original world flying (granted it was on a broomstick and not his own wings) was one of the few things he enjoyed and he had missed it dearly during his time in space. He wanted to know if the rush would still be there if he used his own wings.

"Frodo? Frodo! Has our young friend woken up yet?" An elderly and slightly elderly voice called. Once more he suppressed a snort, this time at being called young. If he was young, these Hobbits were newborns. He was just glad that whatever had given him wings had stopped him from ageing, he didn't fancy the idea of being shrivelled up like a prune, not to sound self-centred or vain, but he quite like being eternally good looking.

"He's awake, Bilbo!" Frodo called back, sending a small smile the immortals way.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and the clinking of china before a cheery round face, topped with grey hair, appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a steaming tray, filled with dishes and plates. Toast, porridge, a jug of juice, fruit and yoghurt, sausages, eggs, bacon and a bowl of sugar. He hoped they didn't expect him to eat all of it and that it was for them all to share but considering these were Hobbits, his chances of that looked slim.

He wouldn't be surprised if there was a table of separate dishes for the two Hobbits somewhere in another room or if second breakfast and elevensies were already on the stove, ready.

"There you go, my boy. Feel free to leave anything you don't want. I understand that the big folk don't eat as much as us Hobbits." He thanked the Hobbit, who introduced himself formally as Bilbo Baggins, Frodo's uncle, and started on the generous meal, listening with one ear as Frodo informed his uncle of what he had found out so far.

Eventually, the topic turned to possible names for him.

"Bilbo Jr... No? Right, sorry!"

"Feathers! What? You've got some, haven't you?"

"Alex? That was my great grandfathers name, you know!"

"Minnie! Oh, right, sorry. That's girl's name, but with the long hair you do look a bit like a female, you know."

"Randy? Sorry! Sorry! It was just a suggestion."

This continued for a good thirty minutes before the Hobbits finally exhausted themselves for ideas.

"Well we can't just keep calling you, you." Bilbo frowned. They puzzled over this for a few more minutes before Frodo finally came up with an idea.

"How about we call you angel for now until we can come up with a permanent name? It will be like those nicknames the rangers get given by the Bree folk." Frodo seemed quite pleased with himself and the newly nicknamed 'Angel' found himself agreeing if only to keep the young Hobbit happy.


	4. Chapter 3

Angel, as the Hobbits still called him, couldn't remember a time when he had been happier. Not even Quidditch, which had always seemed so right before, compared to this euphoric emotion which bubbled through his being in the company of the small, underestimated, creatures called Hobbits.

It was strange. He had no reason to feel attached to these small beings who were practically strangers and yet he had a feeling that if anything were to happen to them, he would personally seek out the cause and destroy it.

He hadn't intended to linger in Hobbiton this long. His original plan had involved leaving the second he could run without stumbling but one thing had led to another and he had yet to leave the shire thirty years later.

He was glad he hadn't when Bilbo announced his 111th birthday party. 111 was a monumental age for a Hobbit to reach. Whilst, admittedly, they did age slower than humans, still appearing fairly young at an age where most men would start gaining grey hairs, they usually only made it to 90 at most before closing their eyes for good.

Bilbo had changed a lot from the merry and brown-haired, if slightly elderly, male who had brought him breakfast the first time he had woken up on middle-earth. His curls were now a greyish white and his smiling face was now wrinkled with a sombre edge to his expression.

Angel had quickly retaught himself the art of cooking once he had realized that Bilbo lost track of time easily, locked away in that study of his.

He and Frodo were probably the only ones to have seen the Hobbit at all in the past few months and he hadn't stepped outside for twice as long.

Angel had tried desperately to get the old Hobbit to at least go out into the garden for an afternoon, but he had refused, claiming that he didn't want to chance a meeting with the Sackville-Baggins.

The two were some of the old Hobbit's closest (blood-wise anyway) relatives and they weren't too pleased when they found out that all of their cousin's belongings, including the family heirlooms and the gold that had been given to him by the dwarves for his part in an adventure, were to be split between his nephew and the tall, winged, non-hobbit who had been living at Baggend.

It had taken a while for Angel to gain acceptance amongst the Hobbits. There were just too many things about him that were different for them to accept him instantly. His lack of a name, his wings, his height, even his clothes. Eventually, through hard work and a few good meals, he had been welcomed into the fold. However, the Sackville-Baggins remained aloof to him, despite his growing popularity amongst the rest of Hobbiton.

Thankfully, all the party business that was going on now seemed to have erased the thought of the spiteful pair from Bilbo's head and the two were finally able to get him outdoors once more.

Speaking about the party, it was already looking to be a large one. Almost everyone in Hobbiton had been invited and undoubtedly anyone that hadn't was planning on attending anyway.

Dwarves from the mountains had come by carrying large bags full of toys and gifts for the guests, in accordance to tradition. It had taken Angel a while to get used to the idea that instead of receiving gifts on their birthday, a Hobbit gave gifts away. In the end he had just shrugged and excepted it as one of the quirks that could be found in different civilisations. The topic of his own birth date was left alone.

Angel had fallen into an easy and, to be brutally honest, lazy routine during his stay in Hobbiton, one that he was reluctant to break out of but was having to anyway to keep up with both Bilbo's share of the chores, which had suddenly been added to his own, and the organising that had to be done for the rapidly approaching party. He was barely getting time for his daily flight any more and the lie ins he had been getting used to were now a thing of the past, just like lots of other things in his life.

Flying with his own wings, unlike flying on a broom, had taken a while to learn and even longer to get used to but once he had gotten the hang of it there was no getting him out of the air. If he had a free moment you could bet he would spend it flying above the fields of the shire, flying along at a sleepy pace or diving and barrel rolling with practised grace. It was no where near as much as usual, recently.

With Bilbo's party coming up there was just to much to do for anyone to relax and the number of hands needed increased tenfold with every day that passed. The field to be used needed tending, tables had to be set up, food had to be prepared, marquis needed pitching. There were streamers and chairs and ribbon and plates and cutlery. A cake, big enough to hold 111 candles, had been ordered and ended up so large it had taken him and thirteen hobbits to transport it from a cart to a table.

At some point, between baking, organising gifts and trying to keep Bilbo's mind off of the Sackville-Baggins the day of the party had managed to sneak up on them. It brought with it the unexpected presence of Gandalf the grey, a strange old man who reminded Angel rather uncomfortably of Dumbledore. After his first run in with the wizard he went out of his way to be busy whenever he came calling, feeling only slightly guilty when Frodo told him that Gandalf had missed his presence at whatever meal and merry making that had followed his appearance.

Today was no different. Whilst Frodo rode with Gandalf in his firework-filled wagon, Angel helped the Hobbits put in charge of decorating to hang the higher decorations.

It was an easy enough job. The only tricky thing was keeping his wings out of the way of the streamers, bunting and banners. He had no wish to spend the party trying to untangle his wings from a heap of string.

Surprisingly, the party started with very little hassle. The sun was only just starting to set behind the hilly horizon when legions of hobbits started to appear on the road to the field, moving surprisingly swiftly for such stout little creatures.

Bilbo stood at the gates next to a large sack of presents, with another three large sacks waiting in line behind it. Angel watched quietly as the aged hobbit greeted each of his guests by name (quite an amazing feat in Angel's mind, although it seemed to be one that every hobbit in hobbiton was capable of), expressing his delight that they could make it before handing them one of the many carefully wrapped gifts and waving them off in the direction of the food. Of course, with food in the vicinity, no hobbit was going to stay to chat for long.

Angel had grabbed what food he wanted before the guests had arrived, knowing full well that once the hobbits arrived his chances of getting to the food with wings intact were slim. From his position on the top of the may pole, his feathers rustled at the thought.

He felt no urge to join the festivities: not even when Gandalf presented an armful of fireworks from his cart, lighting up the field and surrounding river with light that was red and blue, gold and green; or when Bilbo began another recount of his tale to a large gathering of little hobbits- not that most hobbits weren't little, just that these ones were even smaller than most being children and all.

The winged immortal watched all of this from his position on the pole in a detached sort of way. Even when the pair of hobbits that Frodo often hung out with, Pippin and Merry if he wasn't mistaken, set off a large firework shaped in the likeness of Smaug and were then subsequently set to work washing the ever growing piles of dishes by a disproving wizard, Angel couldn't muster up more than a fond kind of smile.

For whatever reason, he wasn't in the mood for celebrations. Perhaps his time among the stars, watching the world forming and progressing beneath him, had led to him developing some form of precognition because he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that something bad was about to happen.

A memory hit him from out of nowhere, of men who were half human, half horses, looking up at the stars above, stars that Angel was now so well acquainted with, and making cryptic comments about the brightness of mars and the alignment of Saturn with Neptune and Venus. Although he supposed that would now be the brightness of Carnil, and the alignment of Lumbar with Luinil and Eärendil, considering the names given to the planets by modern astronomers.

Something didn't sit right with the immortal, he could feel an overwhelming dread which lingered in every fibre of his being and he couldn't seem to stop himself from watching the two kind hobbits, who had taken him in, with sad eyes. Everything was about to change, he knew it was.

Angel had begun to relax, having almost convinced himself that he was just reading to much into what was probably just paranoia, when the thing that he had been sensing finally happened.

In years to come, he would wonder if he could have changed the outcome of that nights events. If he had only acted when he first thought that something might be wrong, would he have managed to prevent the long string of disaster, sorrow and peril which was to follow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys,  
> Sorry about the late update, but here it is, chapter 3! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you appear to have liked the last one. I'll try to update faster, however I make no promises.


	5. Chapter 4

It started out with a speech. Bilbo clambered up onto a pedestal, which was more of a trestle table, so that he now stood almost as tall as Gandalf, or at least, he now reached the exceedingly tall wizard's chin. Around him, the awaiting hobbits finally quieted, some even leaning forwards in their seats, so as to better hear the words that they eargerly anticipated.  
Angel could hear now, in the near silence which now filled the field (and which could perhaps have been described as eerie had it not been filled with hundreds of rosy cheeked hobbits), that Frodo was egging on his uncle, asking- although demanding was probably a better word for it- for a speech.

Never one to disappoint the aged hobbit cleared his throat once for effect, then twice as he realised that the cough had actually been necessary, before finally beginning in the most grandiose and overdone way the hobbit could manage without seeming rude or stand-offish.

"My dear Baginses, Tooks, Brandybucks, Boffins, Proudfeet-"  
This was interrupted with an exclamation of: "Proudfoot." By the hobbit in question, earning a roar of laughter from the crowd.

Bilbo merely laughed along with them, and in the experienced way of a story teller, returned the attention back to himself and what it was that he wanted to say.

"Right, right and whilst we're on that note, the rest of you too." There was laughter as if Bilbo had just told some grand joke, although Angel couldn't see it himself.

Too his way of thinking, addressing the population of Hobbiton (and a great number of the shire too) as 'the rest of you' was incredibly rude, as if their names didn't matter.

"I've know a lot of you for many years now, although not nearly as many of you as I would have liked," There was another cheer. "And those I do know, I don't like nearly as much as you probably deserve." There was slightly less applause than before as most of the louder applauders didn't cheer in favour of exchanging confused looks.

Angel was with them. What was Bilbo going on about?

"Yes, well anyway, I'm getting quite old now. I imagine this will be the last many of you will see of me."

Angel leaned forwards, worried. What had started out as a normal, if humorous, speech had taken a sudden turn and now Angel's heat had sink to the pit of his stomach as he was filled with a sense of dread. There were very few places the speech could go from here, none of them good.

"I'm leaving now. Goodbye." And with that the old Hobbit vanished, literally, into thin air.  
Instantly there was uproar. The watching crowds instantly launching into discussion of the strange speedy and the 'party trick' at the end of it. Frodo was already panicking, looking for anywhere the other hobbit could be hiding, ready to make his grand reappearance. Gandalf was frowning, interestingly enough, making his way towards the gate as if he had suddenly remembered something he had to do.

Angel paid no attention to any of this. Instead, his attention lay with the strange warp in the air, like the heatwaves which appeared over hot surfaces midsummer, which was slowly weaving its way through the rowdy crowd of party guests.

He fixated on them, glancing beneath them a few times to see if he could maybe identify a source, only growing more interested when he found that there wasn't one. It was unlikely in his mind, that this was a coincidence. After many years in the sky, discovering the truth behind many of what had once been life's greatest mysteries, Angel had come to the conclusion that things were rarely, if ever a coincidence, and these heatwaves were not a coincidence. Not when their appearance so neatly coincided with Bilbo's disappearance. He bet his wings on that.

Gently, he took off, beating his wings- once, twice- quietly following behind the quickly moving blur, hoping that it someway this course of action would reveal the location of Bilbo, if the blur wasn't Bilbo that was.

He wasn't disappointed. The blur bobbed its way back and forth, up and down, weaving around the many hills that Hobbiton had to offer before eventually coming to the gates of Bag end. There was a pause as the blur shifted, doing something that Angel couldn't make out from his height, and then suddenly the missing hobbit was standing in the blurs place slipping one hand into his jacket pocket and undoing the gate with the other.

A frown made its way onto his face as he made to follow the hobbit, who, by this point in time, was already within his home, only pausing briefly in his pursuit at the arrival of the grey wizard.

What did he do now? Follow? Gandalf had it covered surely, and he doubted his interference would be appreciated but his curiosity and his concern were insisting that he join the two inside the hobbit hole anyway. But did he really want to risk the wrath of a wizard he could barely stand to face?

Of course, he did! Since when had possible danger ever managed to change his mind from a certain path of action? Either now, as Angel, or before, as... as Harry Potter.

He alighted carefully in front of the stairs that led up to the green, still scratched door, and wasted no time in running up them, taking the small steps two at a time; his wings flapping wildly behind him to help in regaining his balance, when one of the steps shifted suddenly beneath his weight. They kept forgetting to mention that step to Sam, who would no doubt have fixed it for them.

The door opened silently on an empty entrance hall, which would have left him to believe that he had imagined the two of them being here in the first place, if it weren't for the two shadows dancing on the wall, one small and one tall, and the voices he could hear, arguing over some item that was unknown to him. An item that Bilbo seemed most unwilling to part with.

On silent feet, Angel crept towards the entrance to the parlour, pressing himself against the wall so that he could make out what was being said without risking his shadow being spotted- He got the impression that this discussion was one that the two wanted no one else to hear. The downside of this was that he couldn't see them either, leaving him to guess at action based on what he could make out from the shadows, which would quite often swallow each other, becoming an unrecognisable blob on the wall, until someone moved again.

"-no need to get angry." Gandalf was saying, in response to something Bilbo must have said.

"If I'm angry, it's your fault. Why shouldn't I keep it? It's mine, I found it. My precious~"

Angel shivered. The way Bilbo was speaking... He didn't sound like himself. It sounded like something, a snake maybe, had possessed him. All warmth and friendliness was gone from the hobbit's voice and he didn't sound old either. Nor did he sound young. It was hard to describe.

"Precious?" Gandalf had caught onto the choice in words and the change in the aged hobbit's voice as well, although that wasn't surprising. Angel doubted there was anyone on Middle earth who was more observant than the Grey wizard. "That sounds familiar."

"So what business is it of yours? What I do with my own things is my own business and no one else's. It's especially not yours!" This version of Bilbo terrified Angel. He was angry and defensive and mean, not at all like the hobbit he was used to. The shape he was casting on the wall opposite had changed as well, changes that Angel noted in fear as he tried to make sense of everything that he was hearing and seeing.

The hobbit seemed to be crouching slightly, leaning forwards so that the curve of his back was the most pronounced feature of his shadow, and his hand appeared to be in front of him, holding something in a tightly clenched hand.

"I think you've had the ring quite long enough." A ring? That's what this all was about. What ring could possibly do that? For a ring to possess those qualities, it must be something similar to... to... horcruxes.

He dreaded to think of them, after all the problems the cursed objects had caused him, but he couldn't think of anything else that could do something such as this to a kind, old hobbit like. Please, oh please, don't let it be a horcrux. Don't let there be another dark lord. Don't let there be another war. He didn't think he could take another war. No, he knew he couldn't take another war.

He didn't want to watch these kind hobbits, who had taken him in so readily, die. Not when he now knew he was immortal. He couldn't die, wouldn't be able to join them on the other side, just like he couldn't join his parents or Sirius or Remus or Tonks or Teddy. He'd go mad. He knew he would.

"You just want it for yourself!"

The room was getting darker, so was the entrance hall. Shadows rose up to fill every available space as candles flickered, spit and died. Gandalf was speaking, voice low and angry but frightfully clear, like thunder.

However, Angel heard none of it, too wrapped up in his own fears and thoughts. His wings were fluttering nervously on his back as he fought with the adrenaline and magic that were suddenly clogging every pore in his body, trying to escape.

Fight and flight had him twitching like a mouse, or perhaps a particularly flighty bird, and it was uncertain whether the sudden darkness was caused by him or Gandalf at this point. Both were strong possibilities.

Both magics tore at the air, dancing around each other, and it was a testament to Gandalf's anger that he seemingly failed to notice the other magic brushing against his own. The heavy magic made it difficult to breath and, thankfully, to think, until eventually the only thing keeping him from collapsing against the wall was that magic, warring against him at all sides.

Then suddenly it was gone. All of it. His magic and Gandalf's withdrew from the impromptu duel as the grey wizard apparently calmed himself down. Angel's knees buckled. The light came back in a sudden flood which was almost blinding.

"-I'm trying to help you." There was movement, and the two shadows collided again. There was a noise which sounded suspiciously like sobbing and Angel relaxed, assured that whatever strange mood the hobbit had been in had passed.

"All the long years, we've been friends... trust me as you once did. Let it go." Feeling like he was intruding suddenly, Angel forced himself to move, slinking silently further into the hobbit hole, moving towards his own room.

The last thing he heard echoed in his move as his bedroom door shut with a quiet thud behind him. "You're right, Gandalf. The ring must go to Frodo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Wow, I haven't updated this since February, or something like that, and yet you've all kept reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I'm almost overwhelmed by the response. You guys are literally my drive to keep writing, so this Chapter is dedicated to everyone that has voted so far. Thank you guys.
> 
> Please remember to leave kudos, comment, bookmark whatever you guys do.


	6. Chapter 5

The ring was with Frodo. The ring which had made Bilbo act like... like... well, act so un-Bilbo-like was now in the possession of poor, sweet, young Frodo. Angel almost couldn't stand to think about it.

For the next few years, he woke up panting in the middle of the night to images of Frodo with a hunch in his back and a mad gleam in his eyes. He would spend his days watching the hobbit, tracking his every movement, eyes searching for any non-Frodo behaviour that the hobbit might display.

Eventually however, he convinced himself he was being silly. Bilbo had been a particularly old hobbit after all, was it that unbelievable that the hobbit had gone senile in his old age? Actually, that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Obviously Gandalf had simply been worried for the hobbit and decided that intervention was needed before the obsession got any worse. Leaving the ring with Frodo had simply been an easy solution to the problem.

Yes, that made sense, he told himself, tweaking a feather lightly for not thinking of it sooner. What a waste of three perfectly happy years, worrying about some demon from his past, that couldn't possibly exist here. This wasn't even the same world anymore.

After that, Angel forgot all about silly old rings and whispered conversations in candle lit parlours. Such things became works of fiction, to be read about in novels (imported from Bree because no self-respecting hobbit would ever write a book which involved such things) and then put back on the shelf, where they were forgotten about and left to gather dust as they should.

The next fourteen years, he was glad to say, were much more pleasant. No one knew how to pass time like Hobbits, Angel had discovered fairly early on. Days were marked with home-made meals, small chores, light chats over afternoon tea and wondering what to eat the next day.

Angel had found employment as something like a delivery boy, moving small packages across Hobbiton in return for cakes and pies which Frodo appreciated at the very least, even if they were slightly too big for Angel's liking. Pippin, or it might have been Merry, had jokingly labelled him with the title of 'Delivery Pigeon' which had annoyingly stuck- not that he truly minded he supposed, he just didn't like being associated with flying rodents.

He sighed and stretched lazily. His revenge was a good memory, he lamented. The confused hobbit had been extremely confused when he discovered he couldn't escape from under the shade, despite the blazing summer sun and the utter lack of clouds. Angel had stalked him for most of the day, holding a tarp over the hobbit's head.

He wiggled a bit, shaking off his ruminations, and trying to find a more comfortable position in the tree he had claimed possession of. It was harder than it used to be. Despite this being his normal perch, he had grown some more in the past few years and was almost too tall for the tree now. He should have found a new one by now but he'd been too lazy to look. He needed a new tunic too, now that he thought about it.

He frowned tugging at the olive wool of his current outfit. It had been a gift; One of many, after that hobbits noticed how he preferred his original outfit to their own style of clothing. It was a shame that he'd outgrown it but at least he was growing. Being stuck as the eternal winged midget hadn't been an appealing prospect.

Not that he was particularly tall by some standards, but then the elves had always been an annoyingly tall race and it wasn't really fair to compare him to them.

Angel was shaken from this new line of thought by the crunch of hooves on gravel, which provided an unusual counterpoint for the clicking of Sam Gamgee's shears. That was strange, he noted. There weren't many animals with hooves in this part of the shire. There was no need for them seeing as Hobbits very rarely went much further than their own porches. The few mules that were used on a regular basis had already been and gone for the day.

Unable to shake his curiosity now, Angel sat up and moved away the freshly grown leaves so that he could peek out on the world below.

Hobbiton hadn't changed much since Bilbo had left. The hills Angel now looked down upon were still the same height, the same shade of green and still had the odd round window built into their sides. A few of the doors had since been repainted, the grass had recently been trimmed and the flowers in the gardens had all been replaced, mundane tasks which had been completed as a nice way to spend an otherwise empty Sunday afternoon.

Undoubtedly the biggest change was the large, dappled horse slowly picking its way between the rolling hills. It was an old horse, Angel thought, and would probably be right at home in any other rural setting. However, it was rather hard to blend in when the beast itself was at least five hands too tall for any hobbit to ever consider riding and its rider was the tallest being this side of Bree.

Said rider was wearing familiar grey wizard robes, shading himself with a decrepit grey hat and had a long bejewelled staff secured to his back. He was being followed by a small group of laughing children, but Angel couldn't bring himself to share their joy. Admittedly, he hadn't liked Gandalf- because of course, that was who the rider was- from the get-go, but those mild feelings of distaste had since been left to fester and rot, until now the wizard was a symbol of everything that was wrong in Angel's peaceful life.

It was Gandalf's fault that Bilbo had left. His fault that a possibly dangerous object was now in Frodo's keep. His fault that Angel had spent so many nights imagining his dearest friend, mad and twisted, like Bilbo had been on that horrid, horrid night.

He narrowed his eyes as the wizard pulled up at the gate to Baggend and growled, causing a nearby group of birds to fly away in fright. So the wizard was here for Frodo, was he?

Gracefully, he dropped from the tree, using his wings to balance himself, and made his way after the wizard. His arrival only noticed by the unusually calm horse, who hadn't so much as blinked at the sudden presence of the winged being.

Baggend was unusually quiet as he entered, but even then he had to strain his ears to pick up the hushed conversation occurring further in the home. His wings fluttered restlessly, as he remembered the last time that Angel had been in this situation. He wouldn't let history repeat itself.

"Frodo?" He called, announcing his presence. He wouldn't hide this time. "I'm back."

Playing the innocent housemate, he walked further in, weaving through the rooms and delighting in the sudden halt to the conversation that he had initially heard.

"Is someone else here? There's a horse tied outside." Finally, he reached the room where Gandalf and Frodo had been talking, and he delighted in the tense aura that filled the room, tinged by almost undetectable relief that radiated from Frodo.

'Not today, Old man' He crowed internally, more than certain that he had put a stop to whatever plans the wizard had.

"Oh, Gandalf! What a pleasant surprise. It's been ages." The wizard straightened from his original position, crouched over the fire with Frodo and turned to face the winged being.

"Seventeen years, if I am not mistaken." The wizard returned, smoothly covering his feelings towards the unwanted interruption with a friendly smile. Grey eyes watched him shrewdly, a gaze which Angel met evenly, before both were interrupted by the startled cry of Frodo.

"Gandalf!" There was a rush of movement as the wizard used a poker to remove something from the fire, which he then deposited on the table.

A ring? No, the Ring. It had to be the same one that Bilbo once possessed if Gandalf cared about it enough to come back to Hobbiton after seventeen years.

It didn't look like anything remarkable to the naked eye. A simple thing, made of unblemished gold, in a thick band that would fit snugly on a hobbits small fingers but would be too tight for even the little finger of someone like Gandalf.

But no, that wasn't an entirely accurate description. Even now, as the trio watched, runes appeared, etching themselves on to the metal in a shining red script.

And looks could be deceiving, Angel thought wryly. No ordinary ring gave out that much magic. No ring should have been able to whisper in his ear, when he stood on the opposite side of the room. No ring should have been able to talk in the first place.

"I can't read it." Frodo admitted, slowly, after scrutinising the ring for a full minute.

Angel found he couldn't either now that he looked at it. It looked familiar, sure, but it was like he was looking at a language he had once learnt but hadn't used in a long time. The script was cursive, full of familiar lettering with dots and loops that no longer meant anything to him.

"No." Gandalf agreed. "I, however, can. It's elvish, an old form of it anyway."

"Can you translate it?" Angel pushed, not really in the mood to let the man be as mysterious as he usually was.

The wizard nodded, taking a breath and clearing his throat before he started to speak; his voice taking on a powerful and commanding tone, whilst somehow remaining reasonably quiet.

"One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them. One ring to rule them all and in the darkness bind them." The wizard paused, letting his words hang in the air ominously before continuing. "This is the master-ring, the One Ring..."

Angel stopped paying attention at this point. The One Ring. That sounded familiar somehow, like he had heard it somewhere before. But where? It had certainly not been mentioned anywhere in the Shire and he'd never been anywhere else.

It couldn't have been in any of the books he had read, they had been entirely fictional and, as much as he hated to admit it, this was all too real. So maybe... up there? When he had been but a star, looking down on it all whilst everyone on Middle Earth remained blissfully unaware of his existence and watchful eyes.

Therein lay a problem, however. It was more than likely that he had heard of the One Ring whilst he was still in the sky. Not in words perhaps, no. But he more than likely watched its forging and its journey, just as he had watched everything else since the forming of Middle Earth. However, many of those memories were lost to him.

Whether it was a result of his crash landing or the wish of the Gods, his memories of times directly before his fall were hazy at best. He couldn't even remember what had caused his fall in the first place.

He suddenly became aware of hasty movement around him. Gandalf had thrown himself away from Frodo almost crashing into where Angel himself was standing, in his mad attempt to get away from the Hobbit.

'He's scared of the Ring?' Angel wondered, noticing the band of gold, once more unmarked, sitting innocently in Frodo's outstretched hand. He wondered now what he had missed.

The wizard had moved to the window now, shielding the tremor that was shaking his hands by wrapping them in the floral pattern curtains. "No, I shall not take it, Frodo. The decision lies with you... but I will always help you." The last part was added hastily, as if to reassure any doubts as to whether or not the wizard would be involved in the upcoming events. "I will help you bear this burden, for as long as it is yours to bear."

That last line was familiar. He couldn't be certain, but Angel thought that he had last heard similar words from another old wizard. Dumbledore. Hadn't he said something like that about the prophecy? Right before the whole 'Chosen one' spiel which put his life on the line?

Damn the old man for this. Angel just knew this was going to go badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. Sorry it took so long, but even after rewriting this chapter several times, it wasn't coming out how it wanted to. Even now, I'm not altogether happy with it, but it isn't getting any better.
> 
> I expect that I shall probably edit this chapter at some point in the future.
> 
> Having said that, please do comment, leave kudos, etc. Comments inspire me to keep writing and encourage me to write faster.
> 
> By the way, I need an elvish name for our dear Angel A.k.a Harry, to be used at a later point in the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please let me know and any constructive criticism is welcome.


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